


Рыцарь × Принцесса

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Direct Sequel to Castle Upon Camlann, Eternal wips, F/F, Jealousy, Unrequited Love, [To the tune of Let it Go] Ice Dildo, mild dubcon, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: She wanted to capture that look a hundred million times over.  Fill every page in a book with every medium of that beautiful look.  A love that was totally unseen and freely given.  Her posture straightened and she tilted her head, looking at the monster that loomed over the battlefield.  The image of the knight’s face in her mind, she lifted her hand upwards, in sync with Viy’s unseen bulging muscles.
Relationships: Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova/Mordred | Caster/Saber of Red, Fujimaru Ritsuka/Mordred (Alter)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	1. romance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Castle Upon Camlann](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832143) by [ashforge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge). 



Cold did not bother her. In the snarling blizzard, the breath of wind felt like a summer’s breeze on her skin. However, moving easily in waist high snow was difficult for her. She wasn’t really a combatant in life, and much of her skills depended on Viy’s assistance. His ink black claws, invisible to those around her, flicked mounds of snow away from the front of her, as fast as her legs could handle running. Just beyond the flurry, a far larger, blacker monster stood against the wind.

Anastasia had never seen anything like it before. Made of black fur and claws, but white ugly bone peered through its flesh. Even the snow that was deep on her barely reached the height of its leathery paw pads. It turned its raw bone skull, almost elegantly deer-like, and the blank black sockets bored into her. Or at least that’s what she thought. As it’s long limbs snapped and stretched out, with impossible speed, red dots of light simmered in the black spots.

Only then, Anastasia realized, it wasn’t looking at her. Her breath caught in her throat, her head spinning to the burning spot in the snow. Master form, obscured by the flurry, as she tried to move away. No, she was far beyond Viy’s reach. Anastasia turned on her heel, trying to catch up. She would never do it in time. Not with how fast the monster was.

In her head, all she could imagine was a splash of blood on snow. Master’s crushed form, beneath the fist of the beast, as she began to fade away. Before her voice had time to form, her vision was blinded by a flash of silver. Not red, no - Anastasia always saw this person cloaked in silver. Like a medal, or a precious gift.

Her silvery sword, held against the beast like a toothpick against a lions paw. Yet with visible effort, the beast could not press forward. Like a hero from a fairy tale, but far grander. As Anastasia struggled through the storm, Viy’s massive arm wrapping around Ritsuka, she looked upon the expression of the Knight.

Mordred’s face was tight, focused, undaunted. Her lips peeled back and her teeth grit tightly as she summoned an ungodly strength. In that moment, Anastasia could see it. A righteous fury. A beautiful cloak of light which held all of Mordred’s body together despite it being impossible. With upward force, she brought her silver sword through the paw like it were made of butter. Blood spewed like an eruption of a volcano, coating Mordred’s silvery body in an even coat of red.

The beast howled, recoiled, but Anastasia couldn’t look away.

“Master, damn it,” Her head tossed to the side and she saw it, the most beautiful look in her eyes. She had never seen someone transfixed so beautifully and fully in love. “Are you okay?!”

Anastasia gaped, not even thinking of the roaring snarl from Viy as he fought in her stead. She had never seen anyone so gallant and beautiful. With a whip of her sword, Mordred’s expression looked long past Anastasia but to the monster that had thought to harm her beloved. Her fingers twitched and emotions flooded to her chest. She wanted to create.

She wanted to capture that look a hundred million times over. Fill every page in a book with every medium of that beautiful look. A love that was totally unseen and freely given. Her posture straightened and she tilted her head, looking at the monster that loomed over the battlefield. The image of the knight’s face in her mind, she lifted her hand upwards, in sync with Viy’s unseen bulging muscles.

Truthfully, she wanted to thank the beast. That it had done a service to her, showed her something beautiful that she might not have seen before. Wordlessly, her lips formed a piece of gratitude. That was what she could offer to it, that and the peacefulness of death. Her fingers closed into a fist, and Viy’s grip was on its face plate. Its bone sounded like ice crashing together, and in her peripheries, the knight bounded into action.

“Hold that fucker there,” Mordred shouted, unhindered by the banks of snow or the weight of her armor. Her sword flooded in a scarlet light, no longer silver but blood red. Anastasia stared, not moving her grip an inch. “Eat this, shit head! The wicked sword that destroyed my father!”

The light shot out like a beam, and it was so hot that it melted a line in the snow. The whole world seemed to slow down around her swing.

“Clarent!” Shouting out the true name of her Noble Phantasm, the impossible was made real. The beam had only grown more chaotic, and the snow hissed into steam. “Blood Arthur!”

She had seen many Noble Phantasms already, and the blood red arc was not anything special. However, Mordred’s silvery form, arms akimbo, howling in her chaotic fervor was. In equal measures bestial and chivalrous, Mordred stood as the beast split into two. A beautiful bastardization of fairy tales and monsters, far more crude than Anderson could’ve ever devised.

Anastasia loved to watch her. Like a lion and a dragon both, proud with her shoulders back, and peerless. The character that was the knight in her head. The protagonist in sterling silver armor, who was not a prince or a kind knight, but a beast bound by rules and laws. So honest, without a hint of shame or disguise in her posture. When Anastasia first took her shape on paper, it was not a human look but silvery strokes of paint with scales and a mane. She spilled the red ink on the page, smearing it over the thick black lines of the knight. Transfixed with the battle fury.

But with something else, something delicate. Her Master was the other character. Not a princess, or a magician. No, Master was more like a queen. Strokes of red, and orange, so slight and feminine. She cherished the character at first. The broad hearted Queen, who carried the weight of mankind on her shoulders. The Queen was regal and kind. The Queen hadn’t the strength to carry anyone other than the world, and as the Knight loved her so dearly, she had yet to see it.

That was her story, the one she had scratched into paper at the long hours of the night. She was an observer. No part of the story so much as a child could save Red Riding Hood or the Little Mermaid from their fates. But this was not a tale of Anderson or Grimm. The protagonist wasn’t pure and the love interest wasn’t two faced. There was no lesson to learn.

That’s the quiet promise she made to herself. The hope lingering in her chest. That fairy tale romance had a chance in a world like this.

Oh, she had not the paper or the skill. Anastasia had neither the time nor the ability. To capture the air before her, the faces.

“Idiot, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?” Said the Knight, her massive fangs peeking from her leonine lips. Her clawed paws touched the Queen so delicately that she might’ve been made from glass. As a Knight should, Anastasia could note, could profess. It was romantic, and soft. The maned dragon, set down the world heavy Queen and had nearly descended to her knees. But not -  _ but not _ \- quite. Anastasia’s breath held in her throat, awaiting that moment so closely. “If you get so worn out from doin’ the strengthening, you should say something! Having you pass out in the hallways is troublesome.”

The Knight was so honest in her body that she couldn’t match up with her tongue. Even though her body screamed words of love, her mouth did not agree. As she finishes speaking, her jaw tenses, the whiskers scurry forth. Like she was cursed with dishonesty. But, Anastasia cried silently, her whole body screamed it. Her silvery claws, and her narrow eyes. Love, love, love.

But the Queen cannot see. She was blind, after all, to the small matters of the heart. Anastasia forgave her, sympathized, as if this were a tragedy. She couldn’t reach out and take that small bit. Could not even see what she could grab. The Queen laughed in exhaustion, in the Knight’s arms. “Sorry to impose,” she said in a teasing manner, but she was so so tired. Anastasia could see it in her shoulders, in her face. Like the Queen were Atlas, but so much heavier.

Sometimes it almost brought a tear to her eyes, thinking of the tragic nature of their romance. Other times, though, her own nature seemed to boil up in her cold body. Her muscles twitched as she thought about it, swirling the oranges and the reds, the flying away sense of hope. The Queen need only open her eyes! The Knight -  _ loved her so much. _

“Looks more human now,” said Viy, almost bored. His hulking, beastly form shroud over the doll like a blanket. His maw barely crept open to speak.

With wild blinking, she looked down at her work. Viy was a devilish beast, but he didn’t lie when it served him no purpose. As her eyes unfixed, she saw it too. The Knight was unmistakably Mordred now whereas the Queen. Anastasia made a face. Abstract. Colors, feathers, slender and feminine, but hovering as if trying to float away.

“Started the other way around,” Viy yawned, and the doll slid to the aside, accommodating his ghastly form’s position in a leisurely position. “Nastya, what kind of story are you trying to tell here?”

It was a simple question. One she should’ve been expecting at any given time. Yet when posed with it, she felt off balance. A hundred half formed answers came to the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t commit to any of them. Setting her jaw, she looked at the shape of Mordred trying desperately to love their Master. An ugly emotion rattled in her chest. “A romance.” She answered simply, swallowing the emotion like bile. Smiling at herself scornfully, she tilted her head. “Lying to you does me no good.” She answered.

Viy just laughed at her.

Whether it was the Master or the Queen, Anastasia was determined to stay an observer. That’s what she said to herself a hundred times, watching Mordred come so close yet having it slide from her fingers. Having Mordred’s thousands of confessions, unspoken but shouted, be unseen. She was determined to stay an observer, the sole member of their audience. Hoping for the hero of the story to finally cleave through the mist. The knight who was as much a beast as a prince.

In that determination, her own feelings couldn’t be quenched any further. Just as one falls for the dramatic hero, she couldn’t help but feel the same way. How the Knight, how Mordred, struggled even if she was never to get an answer. How Mordred who had been hurt, who had been betrayed, continued a hopeless love. Just as she loved Mordred for that shining hope, her own blackness couldn’t be fought off. Before she had even noticed, she had begun to change the Queen further.

“She looks like the villain now,” said Viy, as Mordred’s expressions became clearer and Ritsuka’s shape had lost focus.

It wasn’t like Anastasia was going to apologize for her own feelings. By now, she had watched long enough. By now she had felt enough. As Ritsuka continued to look through Mordred, as the Queen could not see the Knight, it bubbled into anger. How could someone so good and kind not see something so pure and good? She fought with tooth and nail in her own mind. How could anyone not see how beautiful Mordred was when she looked at Ritsuka, with love in her eyes?

It wasn’t like she was going to apologize for the heavy black jealousy in her chest. Anastasia wasn’t a porcelain doll, wasn’t a waif, wasn’t some stereotype of a princess. She wasn’t going to pretend like she was above such a raw human emotion. As her jaw clenched for the hundredth time, she knew she was so terribly, miserably jealous. As Mordred’s eyes never wavered, not even once, it felt like a blow had hit her chest with a force far greater than any bayonet that hit her.

She was purely, disgustingly, violently jealous of her Master.

Anastasia wished it would cure itself. Wishes never meant much to her though.

No, God loved to test her. The heavens reached out and said “fuck you” to her in particular. That was how things usually played out for her, and that was why she so often fought. But when it was out of her fingers, just out of reach, it was particularly bitter. Overnight, her romance had become a tragedy.

There was no doubting that something had happened in the breadth of an hour. There was no doubting that something was different. That the perfectly neat ends of the Queen’s threads had frayed.

A very cruel part of her heart was, in a small way, satisfied with Ritsuka’s misery at first. That the blind Master had finally gotten comeuppance. Yet, she couldn’t even hold that feeling forever. Her heart  _ bled _ as she watched Mordred pace in the hallways outside of Ritsuka’s room at night. Unsure to speak or to act or to do anything.

There was no ending for the Knight that was good. The Queen had found a King and had only eyes for her King. No matter how the Knight loved or struggled or continued, there was nothing anyone could do. The Queen could not fall in love with the Knight so much as the sun could rise in the west. And as Anastasia watched, it was like the blow had hit her personally.

Just out of sight, just out of hearing, she bit into her nails like a child. Chewing into the quick until they bled. She should’ve been prepared for a confession. She should’ve been.

“But can’t I love you? We’re the same person. So let me do it. Let me be that Mordred you love.”

She dare not cry, she dare not spill a single drop on this tragedy. Her eyes burned so hot that she gasped in pain. Viy remained quiet as she breathed through her nose, and listened.

“You can’t,” said the Queen. “You can’t be her.”

Anastasia crumpled to her knees. Her stomach was upset. In all the things she was feeling, she could not focus on a single thing. But maybe she was angry. Maybe she was sad for the tragic fate her the Knight. Maybe, even, she was sick and jealous.

“ - Couldn’t you love me the same way?”

The silent Queen felt very much like a villain then and there. But Anastasia couldn’t truly fault her. When you fall for someone, your heart doesn’t let you be fair. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard that she saw stars, fighting the urge to sob. This wasn’t a fair ending. But life had never been fair.

“Humph,” Viy said snidely. “That’s why I chose you. Even now, you’re not giving up.”

That’s right. Observer was a role she made for herself. The play she had made was for herself. There was no fairy tale. No tragedy, no romance. Anastasia stood up, a bit woozy. If the Queen wasn’t going to love the Knight - then…


	2. & lust

“Ah, no worries, Nastya. Just wait for me by my room, then I’ll shower and we can have a date. Little Father wants to train with me this afternoon.”

That’s what Mordred said to her earlier that day, while they lounged in bed. Being an airhead aside, Anastasia hadn’t thought about Mordred being dishonest before. Her traitorous nature had always been born from her unbridled honesty, after all. That’s why she didn’t think anything of it when Mordred hadn’t arrived after five or so minutes. It was only after twenty minutes did she start to have questions. Leaning against the door frame of the bedroom they shared most nights of the week, Anastasia let out a light sigh.

Viy was always more than willing to snoop. Especially now when missions were limited and his bloodlust was not often sated. He didn’t even need to ask, his translucent body spilling out like some kind of horror from the doll in her arms. His skin bubbled and popped as he took a shape vaguely resembling a man-like beast. If she closed her eyes, she saw through his as if they were never closed at all, and his voice and thoughts tickled her mind without reaching her ears.

“I’ll find your little boyfriend,” Viy purred, his smile reaching into his elongated ears. There were times like this that he did as he pleased, as if he had full autonomy from her body. Though, if she cared to think about it, they never were in full disagreement. Anastasia pursed her lips a little bit. Part of her wanted to wait patiently, but his appearance only meant that she had become far too impatient.

“I’ll be watching, so don’t do anything else,” she feigned annoyance for his concern and folded her arms. His cackle meant that he knew neither of them held this statement too high of a regard. She leaned her head against the frame and closed her eyes, sliding immediately behind Viy’s pupils.

Viy’s eyesight was not conventional by any means. Everything had a soft warm tone, like it had gone through a sepia filter. Anastasia wondered if it was because harsh light would hurt his eyes, or if there was a more special reason. Turning left a faint blur, and when his eyes settled on something living, each creature had a unique blend of colors. Viy had said once before that it was a description of how good they were to taste, but Anastasia always thought it looked disarming. Like people were crisp lines with careless smudges of paint beneath them.

She did not often have to see through his eyes, but because every person was unique, it was easy to memorize who was who. Even through some walls, his senses could pick up traces of people. Medb, Jack, Jeanne Alter - many people who made themselves regular around Chaldea. She took a deep breath, tense. Ah, there was her prince.

Three sets of colors. One she knew as Mordred, another her Master. The third was Master’s infant child, nestled in Mordred’s arms. As an ugly emotion flared in her chest, she felt the same simmer uncomfortably on Viy’s skin. “Thanks, Mordred. Melehan is such a daddy’s girl,” Master sighed and she leaned onto her knees. “If she doesn’t get the extra nap in she’ll be grumpy too.”

Mordred shifted, “and? The other me is?” A quiet frustrated tone settled into Mordred’s voice and Anastasia felt a coldness settle in her chest. They had been down this road before, but it had been some time. She felt Viy’s jaw drop open slowly, and she clenched hers to seize it shut.

“Mor -” Ritsuka stammered for a moment. That’s right, Anastasia urged. Don’t use her name, don’t put it in your mouth. “My husband is - having a rough time today. The Mad Enhancement isn’t kind to her. She doesn’t want Melehan to see her like that.” In other circumstances, Anastasia might have felt more pity. The Altered Mordred being summoned as a Berserker wasn’t easy for anyone, and it left her Master in difficult situations with an infant. But at this time, she had brought her thumb to her lip and begun chewing.

Viy’s hackles rose in response. They often felt the same things, especially in times like this. She had to be careful that the temperature wouldn’t drop too harshly, but the bitter coldness in her chest made it hard. So, the Master’s husband forgot her name and now needed Anastasia’s Mordred to ease her troubles? Infuriating, humiliating. “She’s asleep now, so you should take her back,” Mordred said as she gingerly passed Melehan back to Ritsuka. “Tell that idiot to get her shit together.” Anastasia wanted to ask, ‘or what?’ But her eyes opened.

Slowly, she felt her graph restore as Viy returned to the host doll in her arms. Slower still, she waited for Mordred’s return. Her teeth broke the skin at the top of her thumb as she bit down. Someone might have asked Anastasia if she were above such jealousy. After all, Mordred had only been helping with Ritsuka’s infant. After all, the child could tell her father regardless of the age. But that was what made it so insulting. The taste of blood filled her lips, as she could smell Mordred down the hall. Mordred’s heart wasn’t hers yet. That’s what she thought.

“Nastya,” Mordred called out to her, and the nickname made her eye twitch. No, she didn’t get to call her that if she was going to be making eyes at Master. Anastasia licked her lips of the blood and tucked her thumb into her palm. The knight approached her with a confused look on her face. “Uh, Nastya?”

“You’re forty-five minutes late,” Anastasia replied quickly. “Was Lily having trouble today?” The blood welling in her palm from her thumb felt tacky as she rubbed it. With a blink, she looked at Mordred’s face. Her lips pursed again as the knight made a guilty looking expression. Oh, she thought, that’s it then. But she waited to see if  _ her _ knight was going to be honest with her.

“Oh, uh,” Mordred stammered, “yeah, something like that. I’m sorry.”

Reaching out, she grasped Mordred’s jaw and stopped to admire her face. Anastasia truly loved Mordred’s face. So angular and wild, but with a rough femininity. It was nothing at all like Master’s Mordred, who was sharp and reserved. It was far, far more beautiful. Mordred might have asked something of her, but Anastasia couldn’t hear it. Not with the blaring of her blood in her ears and the fragrance of Mordred’s sweat in her nose.

“Are you sure you weren’t doing anything else, Sir Mordred?” Anastasia asked with cloying sweetness. “Perhaps letting your eyes wander?”

Oh, she did relish Mordred’s expression when she realized she was caught. Blood rushed to her face and she tried to shake Anastasia off of her. A failed effort, with a push from Viy’s wide paw, Mordred’s back became very familiar with the door frame. Anastasia rubbed her thumb along the knight’s lips. She wished she could smile for her the way she did for Master.

“Are you a dog, Sir Mordred?” Anastasia asked, leaning forward a bit to peck kisses on Mordred’s mouth. Even her sweat soaked skin tasted good. “Running back to her? Crying at her doorstep? She won’t let you in.” It was a petty little anger, but it boiled over and controlled her.

Mordred squirmed and it made Anastasia smile. “Listen, sorry, it’s not,” Mordred’s pleas were cut short by a kiss. Roughly, she pressed her tongue deep into the knight’s mouth. Puffs of an argument were lost into her throat, and once Mordred had stopped trying to speak, she drew back. A silvery strand of saliva dripped between them.

With Viy’s tendrils holding Mordred’s body flush, she was allowed to have both hands free to caress her knight’s cheeks. “Sh, it’s okay,” she lied. It wasn’t okay at all. It wasn’t even slightly close to okay. She was so furious that she couldn’t feel her fingertips. But, she knew she wasn’t stronger than Mordred and Mordred wasn’t breaking free. “It’s my fault. I haven’t disciplined you well enough. Be sure to memorize it this time, Sir Mordred.”

“Right here?” Mordred asked in a small voice, glancing to the side. With a slight clap against her cheek, Anastasia brought her knight’s attention back to her face.

“Yes, right here.”

In her head it was clear. If Mordred was a dog, then she had to act like one. The fact of the matter was, dogs did not wear clothes. With a few tugs, she stripped both of Mordred’s arms of those hideous sleeves and pulled the collar off of her neck. As she plucked the supports of Mordred’s top off, she smugly watched as the blonde shyly looked away. Oh, she never got that expression in the bedroom. A face that she was sure that Master had never seen. Still, she cupped the side of Mordred’s cheek and jerked her attention forward again.

“Look at me while I’m doing this. I want your full attention, Sir Mordred.” There was a hint of defiance in Mordred’s eyes. One that was on the verge of fighting back. Anastasia smiled and kissed her again, driving her tongue hard into her mouth as she pressed her palms against the knight’s exposed breasts. To her pleasure, she watched as Mordred struggled to keep her eyes open during the kiss. Face red as she whined a little into her mouth.

Only briefly if she wondered if she was doing something wrong. As Mordred strained lightly against Viy’s grip, she hesitated. In her mind, the choice to break free was resistance, rejection. Mordred could do it any time, she was strong enough. She stared and waited, but Mordred relaxed as best she could with Anastasia’s fingers squeezing her nipples. A choice. Mordred made the choice to be disciplined.

She was already panting, and saliva from their sloppy kisses had dribbled down her chin. Oh, her knight was so beautiful it made her angry. How could she love someone so much and be rejected like this? Digging her nails on all sides of Mordred’s nipples, she dragged her hands downwards over the rigid curves of her abs. She felt Mordred tremble in pain and pleasure.

“Nastya,” Mordred breathed hotly, watching as her waist skirt was ripped off. Beneath, just the scant underwear remained. Briefly, Anastasia noticed Mordred’s eyes nervously flutter to the side and she none too gently corrected her with her palm again.

“You can call me Anastasia Nikolaevna, Sir Mordred.” She pushed her thumb into Mordred’s lips, exposing her sharp canines. “Don’t call me something so friendly when you look at her.” She watched as Mordred’s expression strained weakly. She looked like she wanted to argue. But with that woman’s child in her arms, Anastasia’s anger couldn’t be satiated with just that sorry look.

Without warning or ceremony, Anastasia pressed her fingers against Mordred’s underwear and into her slit. She hummed appreciatively as her knight squirmed, noting how her arousal had already seeped through the fabric. Mordred tried to hold her breath to contain her moans but failed miserably, choking out breathy gasps of pleasure as Anastasia dug her nails into the fabric. A little bit of pain to bring her back in. Remind Mordred that she was angry. The spark shot through her and lingered in her eyes, and Anastasia was content to note that Mordred was not looking away this time.

“I won’t give you to her,” Anastasia hissed, a smile formed on her lips. She continued with her strokes, too gentle or too rough and nowhere in between. Occasionally pinching the skin between her fingers with enough force that even Mordred took sharp breaths in response. “Even if she’s my Master, she can’t have you.”

Not after all the cruel things she had done. Not after Mordred had loved her so completely and she rejected it all. No, Anastasia wouldn’t let it happen. Even if she had to keep her Mordred to herself, to leave mark upon mark upon her body until only Anastasia remained on it. In fact - she eyed Mordred’s skin and thought about the subtle shade that Viy had perceived her.

She looked rather tasty.

“Nasty - ahh!” Mordred cried out as teeth made contact with her skin. Anastasia had never had the urge to bite before, but it felt so natural to do it. Even as Mordred’s skin broke under her teeth and blood welled in her mouth. Her nose flared as she took in the scent of Mordred’s body mixed with sweat and blood. Her vision flooded with a soft warm color and her knight diluted into a sea of color. Ah, it was easy to forget just how similar she and Viy truly were.

“Анастасия,” she licked at the open wound, her fingers pulling back the damp material between Mordred’s legs. “Николаевнa.” Every part of her body had finally reached a focus. Every angry, jealous ounce had purpose. She brought her blood filled lips to Mordred’s mouth and kissed her roughly all the while she thrust her finger to the knuckle inside of her.

She felt Mordred gasp into her, struggle slightly. Anastasia hadn’t penetrated her so quickly and unkindly before, and she could tell the invasion was surprising but not unwelcome. Her knight pulsed and squeezed on her, as if for dear life, and she giggled as she felt Mordred tremble. “Your body bends so easily to me, Sir Mordred,” She curled her finger to press against Mordred’s walls, earning a breathy moan. “I wonder how Master would feel if she saw.”

The squeezing on her finger was the only answer she needed. In frustration, she stretched her knight open with a second. “I hope she comes down this hallway, looking make use of you again to suit her,” Anastasia leaned in close, so her voice became a hot whisper against Mordred’s ear. Her fingers pumping at an unsteady pace. “Sees you as you are now. Weak, naked and mine.”

If any part of her had qualms about the cruelty of her actions, they melted away hearing Mordred’s undisguised moans. Sultry and raspy, loud enough to echo against the metallic walls. It was like she was begging to be owned, be collared by Anastasia so she couldn’t run off and beg at Master’s ankles. And her body burned, clamped down on her fingers so that Anastasia could almost feel the blood fail to circulate through them. In every way but her pretty mouth did Mordred submit to her, but if she lacked even one, Anastasia could not be satisfied.

“You won’t submit and beg for my forgiveness using my full name?” She asked, and offered Mordred no chance to respond. “Fine, then I’ll give you something Master never could.”

She had originally intended to show it off at their date that night. Something that the more indecent shades of her mind had concocted. But at that moment, the chance for romance was dead. She lifted up her skirt and exposed her lovingly crafted piece. Much like a strap-on, or some other type of toy, it sat nestled between her legs at attention. Her fingers slid down the length of its icy shaft, taking note of the details which she had created in more positive thoughts. Swirling designs, like something beautiful and fine that you would find in a treasury.

Mordred eyed it, and Anastasia was smug. She knew for a fact that Mordred had never had anything larger than a few fingers. Her frigid cock was a ways bigger than that. “I was going to introduce you properly had you behaved,” Anastasia felt like her smile was stretching ear to ear. “But, Sir Mordred, you had to go humping at her leg, didn’t you?”

And like an angel, she watched her knight swallow and say what she already knew, “that’s bigger than anything I’ve had until now.”

Anastasia laughed outright, the surge of excitement going through her. “Oh, yes, I know.” Was her only answer as she pressed the cold head into Mordred’s lips. She watched the temperature send shocks through Mordred first, then nearly purred as her expression tightened. She could criticize - it was just the tip. Her fingers were thicker than that, but she instead focused on the expression. Trepidation, pleasure, longing.

Until her length was flush against Mordred’s sopping cunt and Anastasia leaned against her body. Oh how she relished in hearing her knight’s breath tremble and gasp as she tried to adjust to the icy girth. It was the only kindness she offered, letting Mordred adjust to the size. If only because she focused on biting at the knight’s alabaster neck. Each time her teeth sank down, she formed a pretty brown bruise that dotted Mordred’s neck like dog tags, screaming out who owned her. She knew she would need to form them high below Mordred’s jaw or low on her chest so that it would remain visible even after that collar was put on.

“Ngh, come on,” Mordred spoke up clearly for the first time in awhile, beads of sweat forming on her cheeks. With a hand on each of Mordred’s breasts, Anastasia squeezed roughly and dug her nails into the skin. She watched her knight jolt. If she was that irritated, she could fight back. Either she was too guilty to wrench free or enjoying every second of it. With the resistance she felt from Viy’s arms where he held her hips still, she had to guess the latter. “I’m ready, so, move.”

Oh, what a presumptuous little knight. Anastasia pressed tongue heavy kisses along her jaw as her hips remained still and pressed between Mordred’s legs. She trailed slowly until her lips touched Mordred’s ear. “You will beg your Tsaritsa for that privilege, Sir Mordred,” Her tongue brushed against her earlobe, earning a vigorous shiver. “When We have decided you are sufficiently apologetic, We may grant it to you.”

She had taken the lead in bed enough times to know that Mordred enjoyed both sides of the power dynamic. She had seen Mordred submit enough times to know the expression. Her loins tightened. This was something special. Anastasia had never seen Mordred broken before. Made to come to the realization that she had no control or escape, none that she would’ve wanted. She watched in pleasure as Mordred’s mouth opened and shut like a puppet, trying to come up for words. Squirm, she pressed kisses on that flapping mouth. Feel anguish, struggle. It’s what she deserved for making Anastasia second to a woman who would never love her.

“Anastasia Nikolaevna,” Her name on Mordred’s trembling lips was so sweet that it made the blood in her body pulse. Such a delicate, deferent tone. It was every ounce of willpower that she had not to fuck Mordred till she wept then and there. “I’m sorry for being late,” as Mordred struggled to find words, Anastasia dropped a hand between them and pinched Mordred’s clit between her fingers. She gasped. “For letting Master have any of me when I’m yours,” Anastasia’s fingers eased, and she stroked Mordred’s slit around her steaming cold cock.

Mordred sighed in relief, and to Anastasia’s surprise, she wrenched her wrists free of being held. Shakily, her hands clasped on either side of Anastasia’s face as she panted. “I’m yours, and I’m sorry.” Her tone sounded natural, gentle. Her real voice outside of this charade. “So use me until you’re satisfied.”

**Author's Note:**

> as of right now, these are two wips that I wrote a long time ago that I don't intend to finish. However, I reread them and really enjoyed them so I wanted to share them. Also everyone needs to ship this ship okay. Anyway, you can find me on twitter as [@ashforge](https://twitter.com/ashforge)


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